What Next?

The Wound of Words (draft 2.2) has now been despatched to the lovely people who volunteered to be beta readers, and I… what am I going to do?

I’ll be carrying on with the Grand Productivity Experiment, but doing less writing work and a lot more house and garden work. Especially garden work.

You don’t catch me using a chainsaw in a tree. Or anywhere else. I am attached to my limbs and I would like it to stay that way.

There’s the redcurrant to prune (at last!), the mighty Balrog to hack back again (the shed porch disintegrated and collapsed under its weight this year), and the dozens of poles shooting out the top of the apple tree like some sort of living candelabra to slice off.

And once I’ve done all that (no doubt with the assistance of the Caped Gooseberry’s superior musculature), it’s on to the potting, the planting out and the weeding.

Inside, for those inevitable days of Much Water, there’s pruning of another sort to be done (aka decluttering), and a truly remarkable quantity of mending to work my way through.

Welfare work in a Services Hospital Art.IWMARTLD6000
Husband trapped in bed until wife mends at least one pair of trousers.
At some point, of course, whether sooner or later, it will have to be decided: what writing project do I work on next?

Grand Productivity Experiment: Phase Six… Manageable

Wombling, it turns out, is a great way to get things done when you’re tired, under the weather, or trying to fit things in around other, bigger things. Despite ongoing tiredness, I managed to get the bare necessities done and a few other things around them.

And yes, I did succumb to the temptation to browse an atlas, although I admit that I browsed the index rather than the map pages. (A quick eyes-closed stab at a random map page suggests the name Qoraqalpog’iston, which, if like me you didn’t know, is in Uzbekistan, near the border with Kazakhstan.)

Never stick a pin into an atlas. It’s a source of knowledge, not an international voodoo doll.

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Grand Productivity Experiment: Phase Five… Oof.

Up with the rocket and down with the stick, as the saying goes. Well and truly up for Phase Four, and down, down, down for Phase Five. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a disaster – the house did not catch fire, nor did the kettle break – but it was definitely a wash-out.

I did get some things done, but in an absent-minded “oh yes, I’d better do this” kind of way. Anything which might have called for some enthusiasm to be worked up I just… didn’t do.

La Touche Lennui 1893
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